Coffee Time
by trulyyoursfiction
Summary: A series of shorts centered around Elizabeth Keen, coffee, and the various people she shares it with. - Everyone's ships can sail if you squint the right way! - Rated M due to the contents discussed in later chapters being a tad gruesome (can you say "Stewmaker" ?)
1. Chapter 1

**Coffee Time**

A series of shorts centered around Elizabeth Keen, coffee, and the various people she shares it with.

* * *

**Ch. 1, Agent Ressler**

It was just a coincidence.

The elevator had only just arrived when Elizabeth saw Agent Ressler walk into the lobby of the "Post Office", coffee in hand.

Starbucks.

Just like hers.

Elizabeth felt her spirits drop at the sight of him. She stepped into the elevator, straightening her shoulders and keeping a neutral expression on her face as she prepared to deal with Agent Ressler's perpetual hostility.

He distrusted her, he disliked her, and while it was wearing on Elizabeth (it certainly was not the ideal working situation); she didn't really blame him.

Walking with heavy steps, Agent Ressler moved into the elevator beside her, offering a tight, unfriendly smile as she pressed the appropriate button.

The elevators doors slid slowly closed and they began their descent.

Donald Ressler shifted in place, refusing to acknowledge her further, and Elizabeth observed him casually.

She was surprised by his selection of coffee, he didn't seem like the type.

She tried picturing him ordering from the list of overly complicated names on the menu and couldn't make it work.

Seeing him with coffee like this, Starbucks, not some office brew in a chipped ceramic mug, was certainly a change. A crack in the uptight-federal-agent costume Ressler seemed to have perfected.

Judging from the dark circles around the corners of his eyes, Agent Ressler needed the coffee.

It was something Elizabeth Keen could relate to. Her stop at the coffee chain that morning was a direct result of her sleepless nights at home.

Worrying about this job, about Tom, about the box she had found...all the doubts that Reddington had planted in her mind despite her best efforts to shut them out. Elizabeth had not been sleeping well lately, and it seemed neither had Agent Ressler.

The elevator continued its slow decent and the silence was becoming oppressive.

"Late night?" Elizabeth ventured, trying to keep her voice neutral.

Ressler frowned at her anyways.

He looked as if he was going to reply, but the elevator dinged merrily, announcing that they had arrived, and he seemed to think better of it.

When the doors opened he was out in a flash, striding down the hallway quickly, seemingly glad to have his back to her.

Barely resisting rolling her eyes, Elizabeth Keen trailed after him, arriving in the war room a few steps behind him; coffee in hand.

She noted that Reddington was already present, his eyes flicking to her as she enterred the room just behind Agent Ressler.

Having Reddington skulking about at such an early hour was a sure sign that the day would go well.

_Not_. Elizabeth thought sarcastically to herself, sipping her coffee and listening as AD Cooper briefed them on the situation.

Ressler stood a few feet away from her.

He had set his cup down on one of the FBI tech's desks, hands on his hips as he frowned through the explanation. Some things didn't change. Starbucks or no.

Heaving a sigh and wishing her tiredness away through sheer force of coffee and willpower, Elizabeth Keen resigned herself to another day at work.

She took another gulp of her coffee and resolutely ignoring Reddington as he strolled to stand beside her.

Raymond Reddington looked as sharp as ever, despite the early hour.

He obviously had no difficulties sleeping, and Elizabeth resented him for it.

Reddington acted guiltless but they all knew otherwise.

If not for him, Elizabeth would have still been sleeping soundly beside her husband...instead of spending the nights tossing and turning with doubt.

It wasn't fair. But there was nothing to be done about it.

Elizabeth glanced at Reddington as he chimed into the conversation brightly, interrupting AD Cooper with a snappy remark.

Seeming to sense her attention, his gaze slid to meet hers; sharp eyes piercing through her with their focus.

What he was looking for Elizabeth didn't know.

The intensity of his gaze remained, but he smiled at her; a self-satisfied smirk that crinkled the edges of his eyes. Like just the two of them shared the joke.

He gave a little puff of laughter and Elizabeth turned her eyes back to her coffee.

She could feel his eyes, feel their disappointment that she had broken away, feel them staring straight through her...and she did not like it.

Ignoring him, she took a drink and waited for AD Cooper to continue, glancing past Agent Ressler to their director.

This seemed to prompt Reddington to say something else- another short witticism critiquing the FBI's competency- baiting Ressler into an angry response.

Standing in the middle of the verbal sparring match, Elizabeth Keen drank her coffee and concentrated on the warmth radiating from the cardboard cup in her hands.

It was going to be a long day.

Xxx

xxx

* * *

**Author note:**

_Hope you enjoyed it! I'm trying to write as true-to-the-show as I can while still giving y'all:_

_A little bit of grumpy Donald Ressler, not knowing how to interact with Lizzie. _

_A little bit of Elizabeth being stuck in uncomfortable situations._

_And a little bit of Reddington misinterpreting things and acting possessive of Lizzie. _

_..._

_Read it how you want to, it all depends on you! Lizzie/Ressler, Lizzie/Reddington, Lizzie/coffee! _

_More coming soon..._


	2. Chapter 2

**Coffee Time**

Meera and Elizabeth drink coffee together while doing paperwork.

* * *

**Ch. 2, Agent Meera Malik**

The clink of the ceramic mug against her desk snapped Elizabeth out of whatever reverie she was lost in.

Blinking to clear her head, Elizabeth looked up to find Meera Malik standing in her office, a separate mug of coffee held in one hand.

"I thought you could use a little something." The agent said, gesturing with her own cup.

Elizabeth smiled at her, sitting up a little straighter and reaching for the mug on her desk.

"Thank you." she said, taking a sip of the warm coffee gratefully.

She ignored the old, yet still full mug of coffee which already sat beside her computer monitor, and if Meera had noticed it as well, she said nothing of it.

Elizabeth had set the now long-since-cold coffee down first thing that morning when she had arrived in her office, planning to fill out paperwork regarding...the incident...the day earlier.

She had failed to pick it up again.

How long ago that had been, how long she had been sitting at her desk, staring at the coffee with a pen in her hand, lost in her swirling thoughts...Elizabeth couldn't say.

Meera Malik was a welcome interruption.

The CIA agent was the only one of her coworkers Elizabeth did not actively dread interacting with.

Meera stood by Elizabeth's desk. Calm and collected with coffee in hand, observing as she waited for Elizabeth's reaction to decide whether she would stay or go.

Realizing this, Agent Keen offered a quick invitation.

"Would you like to sit down?"

"I wouldn't be against the idea." With a smile, Meera Malik settled into one of the chairs, coffee cup resting between her two hands.

A beat of silence before Agent Malik spoke up again.

"I was surprised you came in today. We all were."

Elizabeth's hands twisted around her mug, the fingers of her left hand reaching for the pattern of her scar. She traced the familiar shape and felt the warmth of the mug against her fingers as she answered, feeling awkward.

"I was just hoping to get through all the paperwork..."

_Paperwork which lay still uncompleted on the desk in front of her._

"...it was better than staying at home, dwelling on it."

_No instead she was sitting there, dwelling on it alone in her little office in the Post Office._

Her problems seemed to be following her everywhere. Haunting her at work, at home, with Tom...in her sleep. She had been having difficulties sleeping before this...now it was near impossible.

Elizabeth shifted in her seat, offering an uncomfortable, apologetic smile; a smile Meera returned genuinely.

"It's been a rough couple of days." The CIA agent offered, causing Elizabeth to nod in agreement, taking another sip of the coffee.

It was plain old coffee. A little overbrewed, no doubt poured from the coffee pot perpetually running in the breakroom down the hall.

Nothing special, but at a time like this, the hot drink was like a lifeline.

A tiny sliver of normal, able to ground Elizabeth in the moment.

She needed that.

A reminder that "normal" still existed.

"Do you want to talk about it?" The question caused Elizabeth to look at Meera, eyes questioning, skeptical. Unsure if the concern in the other womans voice was genuine or feigned.

"You don't have to. We can talk about the weather, or the rising cost of gas." The agent amended, gesturing with one hand. "I just thought you might not have had a chance to...yet."

Elizabeth looked away. Relieved at the lack of accusation in the other agent's eyes.

"No..I, I haven't really talked about it yet. Not outside the debriefing, at least. I just- I, Tom doesn't need to hear the details about it. What with the attack, and...and...I don't want to worry him anymore. Not with how close this was."

Meera sat calmly, head inclined slightly as she waited for Elizabeth to continue in her own time. Elizabeth Keen appreciated that. Most people would have said something.

Tried to reassure her.

Or pressed for more information.

Meera just sat silently, still and waiting.

It was comforting.

Elizabeth felt regret, realizing she felt more comfortable _here_, sitting at work spilling her guts to a CIA agent, than she did at home with her own husband.

She buried the traitorous feeling, forcing it down deep as she gathered her thoughts.

One problem at a time.

Better to work through _this_ now and _that_ later.

"It was close. It was too close. It was all so fast. First with Lorca...and then I had the hood over my head for so long...getting passed off, riding in the trunk of his car all that way."

Elizabeth shook her head and took a drink. Meera sipped her coffee as well.

"I almost thought I had reached him." Elizabeth offered, gazing past the walls of the office and remembering. "For a moment, just a moment, I thought I had him."

She scoffed, snapping away from the memories and back into her office, giving Meera a dry smile. "He apologized, but he didn't mean it. He was indifferent. They- Lorca's people, they asked him to make me suffer and he was doing the job they paid him for."

Meera's eyes were serious as she watched Agent Keen at her desk.

Elizabeth Keen was looking past her, focusing on nothing in particular as she spoke. Her left hand was curled into itself, resting against the coffee mug, her right clenched tightly around it.

Meera was silent as she listened, allowing Elizabeth to lead, watching her as the memories flicked by behind her eyes.

"He," a pause before she continued, "-tortured me. And then he injected me with something before I could escape. The ropes were too tight. A paralytic he said- he said that I wouldn't be able to move, but that I would still be able to feel everything. Like that made it more forgivable. I saw my opportunity and I took it...but it was too late, I couldn't get far enough...with the drugs and the pain...and the damn dog of his."

A derisive little laugh as Elizabeth's eyes darted to the other corner of her desk.

"Short story shorter, he caught me again, dragged me back. That's where it should have ended, where it would have ended...except..."

"Reddington." It was the first time the other woman had spoken during the exchange, the first time she had asked anything.

Elizabeth nodded but did not look at her.

"How did he get there? How did he find you?"

Sipping on the still warm coffee Elizabeth responded slowly, the words escaping like a weary sigh. "I don't know. I'd just about given up, I was drugged, paralyzed, I couldn't lift my head let alone try another escape. There was nothing more I could do...and then there he was."

"No explanation?"

"No explanation."

Eliabeth stared back into the moment, emotions whirling around her thoughts, everything clouded together and confused. She had to keep going though, she had to finish telling somebody. She couldn't keep it all in, all to herself anymore.

Meera gave her the chance, by asking quietly, almost shyly. "And Cornish?"

Elizabeth Keen flinched at the words anyways, something akin to guilt flashing across her face as her eyes stuck resolutely to her mug of coffee, now mostly empty.

"There was...an incident...I was out of the room. I couldn't see it, I couldn't move, I could barely even speak...I couldn't do anything... but I, I could hear it."

Her face crumpled, her left hand clenched so tight the knuckles were turning white as Elizabeth looked back through her minds eye, reliving it all again. Hearing it.

All of it.

Reddington's voice, soft and gentle at first...his hand brushing against her hair...then he was just a voice in the room behind her, flat and ominous and chilling.

Her own voice, sounding so very distant, so very small.

And then the splash. The hissing...the bubbling.

Shaking herself out of it, away from the memories and back to the quiet of her office, Elizabeth hurried on to finish it.

"And then the FBI arrived and it was over."

Silence for a moment as both woman stared off into space, thinking.

It sounded so final when she said it like that. Like someone else's story. A nice clean ending, over with it.

Elizabeth wished that was true.

The two looked at each other, each thinking their own thoughts, feeling out the shift in their relationship; indifferent strangers no more.

"Did he-" Elizabeth began, faltering before resolving herself to ask. "Did he ever explain how he found me first? Before the Bureau did?"

"He wasn't exactly forthcoming with that information." Meera answered apologetically.

"And they haven't figured it out?"

"They're working on it now. You aren't the only one with paperwork."

The two managed small smiles at the joke, hollow as it was.

Silence filled the room and Meera moved to stand, glancing at Elizabeth and meeting her eyes before speaking.

"Well, however Reddington managed it. We're lucky he did."

Meera's words stabbed at something in Elizabeth Keen's chest.

She remained seated at her desk, nodding in acknowledgement as Agent Malik left.

Elizabeth felt frozen as she sat stock-still, grappling with the burst of confused emotions in her chest.

It had been an awful situation to begin with, a near death experience, confusion and shock were to be expected. But adding Reddington into the equation made it all the more complicated.

Whatever the feeling was...Elizabeth didn't want to put a name to it.

If only things could be simpler. Like they were before all this started.

Unable to sit still any longer Elizabeth Keen stood up quickly, stretching as she looked at the paperwork spread out over her desk, _actually_ seeing it for the first time that entire day.

She would have to get to work.

"_But first,_" Elizabeth thought to herself, picking up both the empty mug and the old one as she headed towards the door. "_More coffee._"

xxx

xxx

* * *

**Author's Note:**

_Tadah, Chapter 2._

_Elizabeth Keen and Meera Malik have a heart-to-heart over coffee._

_It turned out quite a bit longer than the first one. A bit more detailed._

_I love Meera so far, her and Lizzie have a great dynamic going in the show._

_So...Is Meera being a good friend to Lizzie here, or is she just a really good interrogator? Perhaps a little bit of both!_

_The next chapter is in the works, and I would like to thank everyone for reading, with an extra special "thank you" to those who left reviews!_


	3. Chapter 3

**Coffee Time**

_Lizzie and Tom savor coffee over a slow weekend breakfast._

_The doggie is there too. Things get awkward, then sweet- then awkward again when Reddington calls._

* * *

**Ch.** **3, Tom Keen**

Elizabeth Keen sat blearily at her kitchen table, listening to the sound of the coffee brewing, trying to rub the sleep from her eyes after another long restless night.

Insomnia had been striking more and more frequently, leaving her tossing and turning uneasily on her side of the bed...eventually escaping to the stairs or the kitchen with only her insecurities and doubts for company.

Tom had noticed, but she brushed off his concern, feeling embarassed with herself. If her worries had just been about her job, she could have confided in him...but now, with everything she had found...now she didn't know how to act around Tom half the time.

He was her husband.

She loved him.

She did.

Completely.

But Elizabeth was- she was spooked.

She was confused.

Everything she had found... the box under the floorboards...the passports with Tom's face on them...the gun.

There had to be an explanation for it.

_There had to be._

She just had to find it.

There would be an explanation.

Tom couldn't be involved with all of that.

A classified murder investigation.

_It wasn't possible._

He was a schoolteacher!

He was a good man!

And he was her husband!

…

And Reddington...he was _nothing_.

A criminal low-life who had done nothing but turn Elizabeth's life upside down since he arrived.

He had been against Tom from the beginning.

Butting into their private life.

Belittling Tom, implying her husband did not really know her...implying she did not really know Tom.

Reddington had acted indifferent when Tom had been attacked, unapologetic for being the _only_ connection between Zamani and them.

She couldn't prove anything, but Elizabeth blamed him for the attack.

Maybe it had been malicious, maybe it had simply been neglectful.

But it was Reddington's fault that Zamani had ended up at the Keens house, and she was _not_ going to forget it.

Elizabeth couldn't trust anything Reddington said.

He had told her as much himself. He was a notorious liar.

Yet Reddington was insistent on shining doubt on her husband at every opportunity.

It had moved past ominous hints to straight up accusations against Tom.

Elizabeth did not want to believe Reddington.

She did not want to even _think_ about believing him.

About even considering it.

...

There had to be another answer.

**_Something_**.

A frame job, maybe?

But who would do that? Go to those lengths?

And why?

Was it Reddington?

Was he really obsessed with her, like Zamani claimed?

Or was this part of something bigger?

Why Tom?

Why her, for that matter?

Elizabeth Keen did not know.

And she was not prepared to deal with that particular line of questioning yet.

At least not before she had gotten some coffee in her.

...

Footsteps on the stairs alerted her to Tom's arrival, and he walked into the kitchen smiling sleepily at her; his hair mussed up, glasses perched on the edge of his nose.

Elizabeth smiled at him.

_This_ was her husband, the man she had fallen in love with.

The man she was married to.

Seeing him like _this_, it was easy to forget about all her doubts.

They were just another married couple puttering about their kitchen on a Saturday morning.

Nothing complicated about that.

...

If she was going to be cynical about it, maybe Elizabeth was willing away her doubts, willing away her better sense, burying her head in the sand; deliberately ignoring an ugly, unthinkable reality in preference of a pleasant past.

A past when they were just Tom and Lizzie, a school teacher and a behavioral profiler from New York.

Not Elizabeth Keen, _intermediary between the FBI and Raymond Reddington_, and Tom Keen, _possible suspect in a classified homicide regarding a Russian spy_.

That made things complicated.

And Elizabeth Keen did not need any more "complicated" in her life.

Especially not between herself and her husband.

_Her loving, thoughtful, utterly adorable husband._

Especially _**not**_ during her first day off in weeks.

Especially **_not_** before she had her first cup of coffee.

...

Speaking of coffee; the brew was done.

Elizabeth rose from her spot at the table, moving to complete the morning ritual and pouring coffee for the both of them.

Tom kissed her "good morning", and she kissed him back, hand lingering on his shoulder as her husband turned to take the dog outside, barefoot and still half asleep.

She smiled after him, everything feeling right in the world, for the moment at least.

They could both use the coffee. Elizabeth decided, choosing a pair of matching mugs from the cupboard.

Tom had just stepped out the door when her phone rang.

...

The sudden noise startled Elizabeth, making her jump and spill the coffee she had been pouring.

The garish sound repeated, the ringing combining with the angry vibrations of the phone against the counter to her left.

Elizabeth had forgotten all about the phone.

She had set it down last night during a round of insomnia, abandoning the cellphone in the kitchen and hoping it would stay forgotten until the week began again.

No such luck.

Now here it was, demanding her attention...with growling vibrations and an ear-piercing ringtone.

...

She hadn't even had her coffee yet.

...

_It had better be something important._ Elizabeth thought grumpily as she answered the call from the unknown number.

It **_was_** her work phone, and the FBI was not big on caller ID.

"Agent Keen." she stated plainly, waiting for an explanation for the call.

"Lizzie, darling, how is the weekend treating you?"

At the sound of his voice Elizabeth's mood nose-dived once more.

_Reddington_.

Of course.

Exactly who she did NOT want to hear from.

She had been hoping for Ressler.

He seemed the type to call at such an ungodly early hour on the weekend.

Elizabeth doubted the uptight agent knew what to do with his time off. He was probably at the office already...catching up on paperwork or something.

But Ressler definitely would have been preferable.

Him or basically anybody else under the sun.

Just not Reddington.

...

"Now isn't a good time." Elizabeth ground out sullenly, turning to stare out the window towards Tom.

"Oh, come now, Lizzie." He chastised, "It's a lazy Saturday morning, what on earth could you be doing that's more important?"

Elizabeth stayed silent, watching Tom and their dog through the window.

_Willing_ Reddington away.

If only things were so simple.

"I didn't wake you up, did I? I always figured you for an early riser."

She maintained her silence, fingers crossed that the call would drop and she could go back to her peaceful morning.

...

The door closed loudly behind Tom and the dog, and Elizabeth attempted to return her husband's smile when he reentered the kitchen- realized she was on the phone- and mimed that he would wait in the other room.

Despite her best effort, Lizzie was certain her smile turned out as more of a grimace.

"Enough dawdling, Lizzie-" Reddington's voice had lost its cordial, wheedling tone from seconds earlier.

It was sharp now.

She wasn't ready to deal with this.

Not today.

"Can't it wait?" she interrupted, cutting Reddington off, equally irritated. "It's my day off, I haven't had any time since-"

He interrupted her right back, his voice forceful with just a tinge of anger.

Anger at her interruption, or her initial refusal, or both. She couldn't tell.

"Time is of the essence."

Elizabeth's heart sunk, any remaining hopes dashed by his tone. It did nothing to lessen the resentment curling in her chest.

_Goddamnit._

"We need to meet _now_. Within the hour."

Commanding now. An order.

The hint of a threat masked under the angry edge.

Elizabeth wouldn't put it past Reddington to withhold information -_information that could save lives-_ if the FBI failed to bend to his whims...if _she_ didn't fold to his demands to meet at odd hours throughout the day, whenever he wanted, _even_ if that meant during her first day off in weeks.

...

"Fine." She replied, sounding petulant, but it was the best she could manage.

She was acting entirely civil compared to how she felt.

What she _**wanted**_ was to hang up on him...or throw the phone across the room.

Or both.

Both would work.

Then she could get back to the weekend as scheduled.

...

"I'll send a car."

"Don't." Her turn to snap at him. Lizzie took a deep breath, calming herself before continuing. "I'll meet you, one hour, just say where."

"Suit yourself, Lizzie. The Post Office will do fine. Though, just outside of it, no need to go through all that security unnecessarily."

His voice was sunny again, hints of amusement replacing whatever darker tone had been present before.

Lizzie concentrated on fighting down her irritation.

"It is _such_ a lovely day. Perhaps we can take a stroll through the park."

_Ignore him._ _Ignore him._ _Ignore him._

"One hour. I'll be there."

_Don't let him get to you._

"I'll see you then, Lizzie."

The line went dead. And Elizabeth Keen was left standing in her kitchen alone.

...

"You have to go again, huh?" Tom was leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, looking for all the world like a sad puppy.

He was so understanding...about everything.

It made Elizabeth feel even worse.

It was times like this when she almost forgot all her doubts about him.

"I do." she answered with a frown, hoping Tom understood how sincere she was. "I'm sorry. I never realized this job would be so demanding."

_The understatement of the century._

"It's all right, I understand. This job is important for you." Tom replied soothingly, his hands running up her arms before he began massaging her shoulders gently, leaning in to whisper in her ear, his voice tinged with the sense of humor she had fallen in love with.

"Besides, we'll have next weekend all to ourselves. They can't get you if we're out of town, right?"

"We can hope." she replied with a small smile, leaning into his kiss and hoping her exhaustion in the moment, _both physical and emotional_, didn't shine through the kiss.

...

Next weekend. Right.

...

A weekend get-away, just her and Tom.

Just like old times.

She should have been excited...but the thought of it hung heavy over her head, as threatening as a guillotine.

Why was that?

...

Elizabeth vaguely noted that their coffee had gone cold.

_No help for it now_, she had to rush to get ready if she was going to make Reddington's meeting in time.

x.x.x

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Chapter with Tom!

Muahahaha!

_The Husband!_

He's probably the most divisive character on the show: people either hate him...or they _really_ want to _**not**_ hate him (_it's just so hard to try and like Tom when we're waiting for him to stab Lizzie in the heart at any given moment!)_.

Of course, Reddington interrupts the morning and calls Lizzie away on her first day off in ages.

Is he purposefully interrupting her alone time with _the husband_...or is it just a coincidence?

;)

More Reddington in the near future. Maybe another chapter with Ressler?

Let me know what you think!

I'll try and respond to the reviews, I appreciate each and every one of them!


	4. Chapter 4

**Coffee Time**

_Reddington calls a meeting, he brings coffee. _

_General unsteadiness ensues as Lizzie tries to figure out what the point of the meeting is._

* * *

**Ch. 4, Raymond Reddington**

The walk would have been pleasant under normal circumstances.

The air was cool, the sky was clear and bright with small wisps of clouds drifting through it.

The sun hung low over the horizon, seemingly reluctant to set, shining amber light through the changing canopy of leaves overhead.

It was a beautiful evening.

...

The pleasant scenery was almost enough to lift Elizabeth Keen's darkened mood.

Almost.

...

She should have been on the metro, riding home alongside the other commuters.

Heading home to her husband.

Instead, _here_ she was.

Walking through the park.

Trying to school her emotions before she reached the man sitting at the small table ten yards from her.

...

Raymond Reddington.

The infuriating, criminal mastermind-turned-informer who had the FBI dancing like puppets on a string.

He was unpredictable.

He was dangerous.

And he had a habit of demanding meetings at the most inconvenient and unwanted of times.

...

Elizabeth came to a stop a few paces away from him, appraising the man in front of her.

"I brought coffee." he announced at her arrival.

Waving Dembe forward, Reddington did not turn to greet her further.

"No, that's not necess-" Elizabeth began, but her protests died as Dembe stepped forward and handed her the brown cardboard cup, steam escaping though the holes in the lid and rising up into the crisp evening air.

_Great._

Elizabeth frowned as she managed a small "Thank you." to Dembe...no need to be rude to him.

He wasn't the one who had called her out here after a long day of work.

A long _normal_ day of work.

Profiling.

Doing her actual job.

...

It had been a refreshing change of pace.

No Reddington mucking things up, dangling easy answers just out of their reach and watching them scurry about trying to find them on their own.

Just a nice, quiet day at the office.

Elizabeth had left the Post Office feeling relaxed, happy almost.

It had been too good to last.

...

"Sit, please," Reddington suggested, gesturing with his own cup towards the chair opposite his. "It's a beautiful evening, isn't it?"

Elizabeth Keen sat.

She sat down at the table in the park.

Holding the coffee she did not want.

Waiting to talk to a man she would have preferred to see behind bars, not after work-hours.

...

Elizabeth ignored his pleasantries with sullen silence.

She was not there to socialize, she was there to work. To get the job done.

To get whatever information he had for the FBI, and get home.

She shifted the coffee cup between her hands, glancing towards Reddington, _-dapper as always, in his designer suits-_ before looking out across the park as he was.

...

The view was pretty, the sunlight soaring in over the tree-line, casting shadows here and there as it illuminated the faces of the passersby.

Employees just off work, looking out of place amidst the nature with their suits and briefcases, scurrying on their way towards the metro station and home.

Couples strolling together slowly, carefree and happy, a few families lingering in the green space with children reluctant to leave.

And in the middle of it all sat Raymond "Red" Reddington, concierge of crime, lounging back his the cast iron chair as easy as could be, sipping his coffee and watching it all.

...

He made no move to speak, the silence stretching on.

It was beginning to unnerve Elizabeth.

_I should have been halfway home by now._ A voice in the back of her mind whined, sparking Elizabeth's ire. _Right_.

Reddington was the one who called her here, who insisted they meet _**now**_, claimed it couldn't wait.

_**Now**_ he was happy to stare off across the park in silence.

It ought to be infuriating, not intimidating. _Right_.

Elizabeth Keen was not in a patient mood.

She just needed to _remember_ that, she needed to keep her guard up.

_Don't let Reddington get to you._

_..._

Elizabeth broke the silence first.

"I thought you were out of the country."

"Change of plans."

...

Of course. That explained it _completely_.

Elizabeth twisted the coffee cup in her hands, feeling the warmth of it, the soft familiar feel of a cardboard to-go cup.

Resisting the urge to fidget as she waited for Reddington to continue.

The cup was brown, no mark or logo on it.

She wondered where Reddington had gotten it from.

The coffee was still piping hot, lending warmth to her hands in the cool evening air.

It was probably from some obscure little store...or perhaps Dembe was a coffee expert as well as a security guard.

_Anyway_. Elizabeth drew herself back into the moment, checking her nerves and concentrating on the situation.

...

She focused on the steam rising from the cup and waited for Reddington to continue. To elaborate.

To get to the point of why he called her to the park.

...

"You should try the coffee. It's from this great little shop I found years ago,"

Elizabeth congratulated herself for guessing correctly.

"-the owner has a nasty temper, never forgets a face, but he makes a mean cup of coffee."

...

A beat of a pause there, and Elizabeth looked up to find Reddington watching her.

She tried to ignore the nervous twinge in heart, holding his gaze, fighting her nerves and staying indifferent.

...

Working as Reddington's intermediary was her job.

She could do her job.

She was a professional.

Even if being alone with him like _this_, having him stare at her like _that_, made her skin crawl.

She would not be intimidated.

At least he was talking, hopefully they would get to the point soon, then she could leave.

"Much better than that starbucks-swill people are so fond of now."

That made Elizabeth give a huff of mixed amusement and irritation. _Typical._

It was just like Reddington to never miss the opportunity for a dig at someone else's (_read: her_) expense.

...

Setting her cup down on the table top Elizabeth met his eyes once more.

Reddington was unreadable behind his usual mask of good humor, a general amusement towards the world.

All of it was a lie...good manners, designer suits, a smile always at the ready; all a part of his carefully crafted disguise.

There was a reason for calling her out here.

Elizabeth just needed to get him on task, wait him out.

He enjoyed being difficult.

Pushing and prodding her, testing to see where the cracks in her armor were.

He seemed to know them all well enough already.

So why call her?

What did Reddington have for the FBI?

Why the change of plans, why come back to the country early?

_Why any of this- no, focus Elizabeth, one thing at a time._

_..._

"I'm here, Reddington." she stated plainly, searching his eyes for a hint of how to play things, "You called me. What do you want?"

"Has anyone told you, Lizzie, you have a real talent as a conversationalist?"

He smiled at her demanding tone, -a cheeky smile- amused with himself; before taking a sip of his coffee.

Elizabeth shifted in place in annoyance, picking up her coffee again and taking a sip in irritation.

...

All right. Fine.

She'd play his game. _Coffee with criminals._

It did not mean she was going to enjoy it.

"I didn't come here to have a friendly chat over coffee."

Even if the coffee was surprisingly good...she would never admit that to him.

"We could have an _unfriendly_ one, but this is much more pleasant, isn't it?"

She took another sip of the coffee, savoring the taste despite herself, and looked back across the park.

He seemed pleased, and the two sat in silence for another few moments.

Elizabeth, stewing in her head, debating how long to wait before trying to wrangle the information -_whatever it was_- out of him again; Reddington, looking perfectly content with his legs crossed and his arm leaning across the table holding his coffee.

...

With a quick look towards her and away again, Reddington finally began to speak.

Elizabeth leaned slightly towards him in order to hear.

"The FBI is going-"

The sound of a phone ringing behind them interrupted the ambient noise of the park, startling Elizabeth, her eyes sliding behind their table towards Dembe as he answered the call.

Reddington ignored it completely, continuing talking, unperturbed,

"-to receive a tip, about a-"

Dembe handed him the phone and Reddington accepted it with his free hand, holding the cell to his ear and listening- lapsing into silence, his sentence hanging in the air unfinished, still failing to acknowledge the interruption.

Straightening in her chair, Elizabeth watched him raptly.

Reddington ranged from flaunting his criminal activities in the FBI's face to utter secrecy about his larger plans.

Silence could be as revealing as chatter.

His eyes were fixed on something unseen before him. A slight frown flickered across his features.

"Thank you, I appreciate the update."

The conversation (if you could call it that) was apparently finished, and Reddington handed the phone back to Dembe.

Elizabeth waited for an explanation...

...Or for Reddington to at least continue his previous line of conversation.

Anything, really.

Instead, he leaned back in his chair, picked up his cup of coffee; and, looking out across the park, took a long, slow sip.

...

_Any second now._ Elizabeth coached herself; half of her preaching patience, the other half channeling Ressler and demanding a response _now_.

The result was Elizabeth fidgeting uncertainly in her chair, fighting her inner conflict as she glanced between Reddington and the horizon.

The entire internal debate took only moments, but quiet time spent in Raymond Reddington's company passed like an eternity.

_Right, action time._

_..._

"You were saying?" Elizabeth prompted, squaring herself towards him, ready to do battle if necessary.

Whatever lead he had, the FBI needed it.

No matter how much Reddington unsettled her or how odd he acted, if he wanted to play forgetful, she could nag.

_He called this meeting._

A flash of decision passed over Reddington's face in the moment before he turned to face her.

His eyes flicked over Elizabeth's features, evaluating her, his gaze shallow.

Cursory.

Something had changed with that phone call.

The atmosphere between them was different now.

Reddington smiled at her then, the wry condescending smile he churned out on occasion, usually directed towards AD Cooper or Agent Ressler.

"Plans have changed."

...

"They changed?"

His smile switched at her skeptical, impatient tone, loosening a smidgen.

Becoming a tiny bit more genuine...if that word could be applied to the man.

"The world never stops spinning, Lizzie, do try to keep up."

Reddington stood up without warning, buttoning his suit coat with one hand before reaching for his fedora.

"We'll have to meet another time."

...

He handed his cup to Dembe, and Elizabeth rose indignantly from her seat.

"Wait a second, you called me, what were you going to tell us? Something about a tip-"

"Lizzie, darling, as much as I love our conversations," The fedora was on his head now and he was turning to leave.

"This takes precedence. The FBI can wait."

"What was the phone call, Reddington?"

"That's my business, Lizzie, I promise it's nothing to concern yourself with. " He paused, turning to face her once more, his eyes raking over her lazily, appraising her before Reddington shot her one final smile.

"It was lovely seeing you like this. We'll be sure to talk more next time."

...

Elizabeth was left standing by the small cast iron table, spluttering but helpless to stop him as Reddington and Dembe strolled across the grassy lawn of the park towards a waiting sedan, just visible beyond the trees at the edge of the park.

_When had that arrived?_

_..._

Elizabeth was left feeling angry, vaguely scandalized by Reddington's wandering eyes, and most of all, silly.

She felt silly standing alone in a park for no _goddamn_ reason, with nothing to show for her wasted evening.

Elizabeth had no idea why Reddington had called her in the first place, _apparently_ there was nothing worth saying.

Or if there had been, Reddington had changed his mind.

Had she done something wrong?

Read the situation innacurately?

Had "plans" (whatever Reddington meant by that) _actually_ changed?

Or had Reddington set out to waste her time?

...

_Mission accomplished._ Elizabeth griped internally, throwing her cup of coffee into a trash bin as she stomped her way back through the park.

The entire evening had been a waste of her time.

...

Now instead of a relaxing evening at home, Elizabeth Keen was facing reheated leftovers for supper, timid questions about her amount of overtime work from Tom; and, no doubt, a grilling by Agent Ressler in the morning about her lack of results after meeting with Reddington.

The day had started out with such potential...and now Elizabeth's mood was as dark as the evening gathering around her.

_And all I got was a stupid cup of coffee._

Elizabeth mused, tracing the scar on her wrist with the opposite hand.

Even if it _had_ been a particularly good brew...

x.x.x

x.x.x

* * *

**Author's note:**

Done! Ha!

This chapter was murder to write out because...Reddington. Also (mainly), I wasn't sure how to end it for a while. But I like it now. This bit fits in somewhere before E.6, I'm trying to stay in cannon, but I don't know how long I'll manage.

Did you enjoy Reddington's little dig at Elizabeth & Ressler's coffee choices?

Is he jealous, or just a snob?

Next up will probably be a little something with the FBI (and friends) doing some undercover work. Or another scenario in the Post Office.

I haven't decided.

Thank you so much for reading! And a special thank you to everyone who has left reviews! I appreciate each and every one of them!


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